Florilège
by Scripturiens
Summary: A collection of Mimato vignettes and non-linear one-shots.
1. Macarons

**AN:** I am starting this little side-project to keep updating short Mimato stories, just for the sake of keeping the ship afloat. I titled it after the French word for "anthology", for obvious reasons. I hope you enjoy these little tids and bits, and please drop by to say hi whenever you feel like it.

The events of this particular story would be set before or rather _during_ those of Episode 38 of Adventure 02, which is when Sora decides to give Yamato a batch of home-made cookies for Christmas.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Digimon, nor will I ever claim to do so. The cover image belongs to DeviantArt artist _Dralamy_.

* * *

She had chosen a royal blue paper wrapping, and a single silver ribbon set off the package rather nicely. She smiled, thinking perhaps he might like that arrangement of colours. She didn't really think he'd notice, _but if he did,_ she told herself, she'd be happy with her choice. The walk towards the venue itself wasn't too long or tiring, but that may have been because she was rather nervous and that usually manifested itself as an upsurge of energy. She blinked, looking down the deserted alley and biting on her lip anxiously. She looked around, but there was no-one here, as most of the people were lining up on the other side of the building, waiting impatiently for the show to start.

A gentle breeze blew, and Tachikawa Mimi shivered slightly. The weather was taking a turn for the worse, growing colder by the hour, but she could only hope that it would be cold enough to snow soon. Christmas wasn't Christmas if it wasn't white, after all. The girl took a small breath, adjusting her pretty pink beret and gripping the long package just a little more tightly as she made it to the door. Raising her fist to knock, she was quite surprised when the door suddenly opening, revealing a pair of deep blue eyes belonging to Ishida Yamato.

Recognition registered in them, and he smiled as he looked at her – a small half-smile that he saved just for her, and that she returned with a full one of her own.

"Mimi-chan," he greeted, opening the door and gesturing for her to come in, "You shouldn't be outside, it's cold."

"It's not _that_ cold," she lied, but entered nonetheless, hearing the door click softly behind her. It was warmer inside, certainly, but Mimi's hands were still trembling slightly as she held the package that he had not yet seen or asked about. She didn't expect him to – Yamato could be very prudent and did not like perusing others' business.

"You came," he said again, even as he started walking down the hall, knowing he didn't need to be told to follow.

"I was in the neighborhood," the girl replied with a shrug, tossing her cinnamon coloured tresses over her shoulder as she spoke. It was a lie and he knew it, but did not call her out on it. She knew he would not.

There was another door, leading to a living room that was very poorly decorated – there were only a mirror, a few low couches, a low coffee table and various mismatching posters hanging on the walls. It was, mostly, a waiting room where performers could relax and sit down when preparing for their shows, and it was here that Yamato had left his case, coat and scarf. He sat down on a couch, resting his feet on the table before him even as Mimi took a seat on the very table, looking casually at him with her ankles crossed below her. Neither one was talking, just silently smiling and enjoying the proximity. She was the first to break the silence.

"I can't stay," she said simply, and Yamato cocked his head to one side.

"I supposed you wouldn't," he admitted with a sigh, "Still, I _am_ glad you stopped by."

Mimi smiled at him, removing her hat and looking at her reflection on the mirror behind him. Her fingers twitched around the box and she extended it to him, smiling slightly as he reached over to take it from her.

"I brought you something," she said, her cheeks growing warmer the more he looked at her, "I hope you like them." She had bought the long box at a specialty bakery store, where she had gone to pick up the ingredients that she had needed to prepare his surprise. He had mentioned once in a phone conversation that though he did not love sweets, macarons had a special place for him in his heart. They reminded him of home, and his French relatives, and he had always enjoyed the fancy little cookies. Mimi had since then spent more afternoons than she'd ever admit to him trying to perfect the art of making the delicate French pastries, just so that she could make them for him.

He looked very grateful, and a little taken aback by the gesture, but his cheeks were warm too, and she had to admit that flustered was a good look on Ishida Yamato.

"You didn't have to," he muttered, "Thank you so much, Mimi-chan."

"Open it!" she told him with a small laugh, "I didn't bring it just so you could _see_ the thing."

Yamato chuckled at her impatience, but did as he was told. He liked the way she had wrapped it, noting that she had used colours that reminded him of Gabumon. Mimi was like that, taking care of such little details that no-one else even noticed. Carefully he unwrapped the box and his eyes opened wide when he saw the neat assortment of French macarons, all in different colours and looking almost store bought. "Did you make these?" he asked her, and she nodded happily.

"Yes," she said proudly, "Don't they look nice?"

"They look great," he said, but then frowned, "Are they safe to eat?"

Mimi gave him a level look, cocking one eyebrow at him.

"_Excuse me?"_

"I'm joking," he corrected quickly, letting out a small chuckle. Yamato opened the box and took out a green macaron, presumably pistachio. The girl was nodding, encouraging him to try it. Yamato took it to his lips and bit half of it, his eyes brightening and his lips pulling into another rare smile as he chewed.

"They're fantastic, Mi-rin," he complimented, making the girl clap happily and blush a furious pink.

"You really like them?" she asked, clearly relieved, "I am _so_ glad."

"Here," he said, handing her a pink macaron and watching her nibble on it delicately as she moved to sit next to him, surprising him a little. Mimi had a way of doing things so simply, so easily, and she often caught him off guard. She rested his head against his shoulder, and he finished his cookie, smiling. He didn't tell her anything that day, but her present had endeared her to him more than she could have hoped. He'd had no idea Mimi knew these were his favourite cookies, nor did he know that she had learned how to make them for him. But she had, and it made Yamato's stomach flutter a little, and his heart beat just a _little_ faster.

"It's almost time for your concert," Mimi said, looking down at her wristwatch and getting up.

Yamato only shrugged, surprised at how cold he felt when she stood.

"I still have some time."

There was a knock on the door, and Yamato looked back as it opened. Gabumon was standing there, but he took no notice of Mimi, who was now standing behind the door. "You've got visit," he said, "I think Sora's outside."

Yamato snapped out of his trance, offering his Digimon partner a smile. "Can you see to her for a moment?" he asked, "I'll be right out."

"Sure," his friend said, leaving and closing the door behind him.

Mimi's back was to the wall, smiling a little sadly at him. Whatever warmth had been in the room had left with Gabumon, and they were both thinking about the Digimon's words.

"I have to go now," Mimi said, and Yamato only looked at her, not surprised or sad or angry – he was just looking at her, as if he was trying to memorise the lines in her face. Slowly, he nodded, standing up. Mimi walked up to the couch and retrieved her beanie hat, carefully adjusting it over her head and looking as if she had just stepped out of some designer's expensive winter collection with her long white coat, tights and ankle boots. She opened her mouth to say something, but Yamato beat her to it.

"I'll walk you out," he said automatically, and she only nodded. Neither of them said anything, but they went the opposite way to where she had come in. There was a side exit, and she'd come out where all the rabid fans were, would be easily lost in the crowd. She didn't notice that he was still carrying the box in his hand, and her smile was hard to hide once she did. What did it matter, what he was about to do, if that box was still in his fingers?

"Yama-kun?" she asked.

He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell her."

He didn't answer, only gripped the box tighter in his hand. His lips were set in a grim, firm line and he didn't know what he wanted to tell her, but suddenly, Mimi was standing on her tiptoes and kissing him fully on the mouth. She tasted like almonds and cinnamon and if he had been more prepared, he would've wanted the kiss to last longer, to hold her hand or her hair or do something other than stand there, eyes closed and cheeks on fire.

"Maybe we could have dinner," she said as she fell back; giving not one indication of what she had just done. "If your father works late, or something."

It took him a moment to find his voice. "Ye – yeah, that'd be nice," he said lamely.

Mimi was standing at the door, her hands clasped behind her back and the sweetest blush on her cheeks.

"Happy Christmas, Yama-kun," she said softly, and Yamato gave her a full smile, the kind he rarely gave, even to her.

"Happy Christmas, Mi-rin."


	2. Equinox

**AN:** I wrote this on a whim, unsure of what exactly prompted it. In any case, please enjoy and feel free to drop me a line or two, your reviews and comments are always greatly appreciated.

* * *

The sharp, shrill ringing of his phone was what brought him out of his reverie. He saw the name but didn't pick up, letting the call go over to voicemail – an action that was frankly more likely to happen than being picked up, and continued to gaze aimlessly as he walked. The day had been a dark, dull gray and a cold breeze blew diligently, a sure sign that autumn had finally come to die in Odaiba. Yamato didn't know what prompted him to go there, what with the terrible weather that they were having, but he had learned that walking outside helped whenever he got into what Takeru affectionately referred to as "one of his moods".

The park he visited was not particularly beautiful or even particularly close to his home but it was a peaceful place full of memories for him, and sometimes Yamato liked going there to escape the troubles of his hectic life. There was something familiar about the old swings and slides; the field where he and Takeru used to play football, long before their parents divorced; the tree he liked to climb when he was learning how to play the harmonica…

A gust of wind blew straight through him and he only paused for a moment before he continued walking, his feet taking him past the small pond where his mother used to take them to feed the ducks. He didn't smile at the memory, though it was a fond one and he had certainly forgiven Natsuko after all these years. He looked at the watch he wore on his left wrist, a birthday gift from Sora — it was so much later than he thought. She probably wasn't there anymore. He'd tried calling her before but she wouldn't answer her phone, and he thought, maybe, that it'd be best if he went to look for her. He hadn't meant to be quite so late, and she would probably be very upset, but Yamato couldn't have helped it. He'd had that meeting with his band and after that; things had gotten a bit hectic.

He opened his umbrella as the first drops of cold rain touched the back of his neck. The blonde sighed, running his fingers through his fine hair. She had been looking forward to that concert, had been a mess of nerves and blushing cheeks when she had presented him with a ticket, a present from her father as an apology for being away for too long. The explanation had made him smile. His father had never thought of apologising for such a thing, he was sure. But her family was different, as he was so very often reminded. She had two doting and loving parents who clearly felt as though she was the single most wonderful human being they could have ever created. And sometimes, Yamato thought he could agree with them. Around him, the rain had picked up without his notice.

It had already grown dark and still, she had not returned any of his calls. Yamato took his phone again but this time, when it rang, he could hear it. He looked up and she was standing there, halfway across the bridge. She was wearing a dress and he was sure it had been very pretty, but was now totally ruined, wet and clinging mercilessly to her body. Her closed-toe sandals had probably not been the best option for a rainy day, but maybe she hadn't expected to be out by this time at night. Of course not – she had expected to be at a concert with _him_. Still, the vision of her standing there in her wet clothes, with her hair weighed down by the selfish downpour, Yamato's heart couldn't help but give a little start.

"Mimi," he said quietly, walking over to place the umbrella over her head – a futile action, since she was already soaked to the marrow – "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, "Something came up and I couldn't slip away before." He had wanted to, truly he had, but Sora had called him and insisted they should have dinner together, that they hadn't done anything like that in such a long time, and Yamato found himself unable to conjure a reason to deny her. But dinner had extended far beyond what he had expected, and it had taken a lot to shake her off that night under the pretense of staying over at his brother's.

Mimi didn't yell at him for being late, or berate him for making her wait. Tachikawa Mimi could have – _should have_ done any of these things but she only shrugged and when she finally looked up at him, he saw that she had been crying.

"Mimi, what – "

"Yamato," she said quietly, "Do you care about me?"

The question, coupled with the use of his name, made him frown. "You know I do," he said, uncomfortable that she should ask such a thing. "Let's go, you'll get sick if you stay out here for too long." But she didn't move, didn't even act as though she heard him. Then, slowly, Mimi smiled and she threw her arms around his neck as she placed her lips firmly against him, surprising him so much that he dropped his umbrella and he was suddenly cold and wet but he was also warm, and she was so sweet and soft and fragrant…

Yamato's arms went around her waist, bringing her closer to him, pulling her into a deeper kiss. She pulled away firmly, running her graceful fingers over his hair and pushing it back, away from his eyes. "I keep hoping one day you'll say it," she told him, "But I don't think that's going to happen."

He blinked the rain out his eyes. "Say what?" he asked, but he already knew and she knew that.

"That you'll tell her about me."

He frowned, his body tense and completely soaked now. "You know I can't do that."

She raised a hand, the smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes. "I know," she said with a sigh, "And that's why ... I won't do this to her anymore."

He raised a hand, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and brushing her wet cheek with the backs of his fingers. The question was stuck on his throat – he wanted to ask petulantly how she pretended to do that, to deny that they felt this way towards each other. It didn't matter that he'd been dating Sora for two years, or that she had a few flings here and there – _no-one_ mattered when she came back to Tokyo only a few weeks at a time, a couple of times a year. When she was here, she belonged to him; it had always been that way.

Instead, he asked: "What do you mean?"

"I mean … I'm coming back, for good," she answered, that sad smile that wasn't a smile though it looked remarkably like one, back on her pretty pink lips. "But I'm not coming back to you."

Yamato felt cold.

It started in his chest and spread slowly to the tips of his fingers, to the marrow in his bones. She didn't say good-bye, didn't kiss him again. But her fingers touched the tips of his for a only a moment before she turned her back on him, knowing he would not reach out to touch her. He stared at her back until she disappeared, the rain beating insistently upon him, his umbrella forgotten somewhere down the bridge. His heart, which had at some point forgotten how to beat, was now remembering painfully how the steady rhythm went. And with every step came a breath, and with every breath came a thud, and with each thud Ishida Yamato realised that she had never been his, not once in the entire time he had been in love with her. But she had owned him completely and he only noticed now, when she had returned his heart without so much as glancing back at it one last time.

He walked past the dying sakura trees and wondered when he had been forbidden from knowing her any longer.


	3. Kairos

**AN:** First of all, I want to apologise for not updating in such a long time. I was very busy with school up until this week, and what few time I had got me nowhere in writing. I will hopefully update my fic before Christmas, since that chapter is _mostly_ finished. Secondly, thank you so much for your kind words! I am truly pleased that you like my little stories, they're a pleasure to write. As an apology for the delay, here you have another little piece of Mimato goodness.

For the guest who asked, _Macarons_ wasn't an alternative so much as an addition. You can still infer from the story that Sora did arrive and did give him the cookies, just that Mimi got there first. At one point she even asks him not to tell Sora about it. So far in these stories, I am assuming that Mimi and Yamato had a thing going on, that no-one else was privy to. In this one in particular, I imagine that Mimi was at least 15 years old, which would make Yamato 16. I realise that this doesn't match their ages in 02, but it feels more viable this way.

_Kairos_ is one of two Greek words for _time;_ this one being of a qualitative, permanent nature. Basically, it refers to a 'lapse in time', which I found appropriate for the scenes described below, that describe an important moment in Mimi's and Yama's life.

* * *

"Yama-kun?" her voice called, a sweet, melodious sound, despite the slightly annoyed undertone. Ishida Yamato did not pause or even look up at her, his eyes fixed on the notebook in front of him as he crossed out words and concentrated harder.

"Yamato."

She called his name out again, more insistently. He tapped the desk with the back of his pen, still blissfully unaware of how dangerously close he was to angering his friend. Tachikawa Mimi was lying on her stomach, sprawled as quietly and daintily as a girl could. Her legs were up in the air, moving backwards and forwards as she rested her chin on her hands. She cleared her throat, and the harsh sound seemed to draw his attention back to her. Yamato put his pencil down, gyrating on his chair to face her, while glancing casually over at his bed.

"Yes?" he asked, not irritated so much as … indifferent. A little cold, even. Mimi just looked at him with her brow furrowed and he wondered if she was about to berate him for his attitude, or his tone, or the way he glared at her – all things Mimi was well-known to do, but the girl didn't seem to have anything to begrudge him just then.

"I'm bored," she told him, letting her face fall on a pillow and lowering her legs so the bed so that she looked like she was almost sleeping. Yamato sighed softly and turned back to his notes.

"Then go out," he offered simply, quickly picking up where he had been before she interrupted him.

"I don't want to go out alone," the girl moaned, clearly indicating the conversation was far from over. Yamato ignored her again, scribbling down a few more lines. He had thought nothing when she appeared on his front door, flushed and jittery and telling him she'd needed to get out of the house and had thought to pay him a little visit. She knew he was busy, she said, and promised not to interfere. Though Tachikawa was often loud, cheerful and excessively energetic, she had learned over the years to keep it down to a bare minimum when she was with Ishida. He claimed it was discipline; she knew it was simply that Yamato's presence was soothing for her.

"Then do something else," Yamato offered once more, brow furrowed as his pen danced across the paper. _No, that didn't sound right at all… _ "There might be some of Takeru's old crayons somewhere on the shelf in the living room. Check the drawers," he said off-handedly, still not bothering to look back at her and what he assumed would be a very comical, absolutely incredulous face. He would not have been able to stop himself from laughing, if that were the case.

He felt the pillow hit the back of his head softly, punctuated with a clear _"jerk", _coming from over the bed. Yamato laughed, turning around to see her frowning as she fought to suppress a smile. He closed his notebook and put down his pen, standing up to stretch his arms over his head. "Come on," he said, shuffling his hands inside his pockets, "I could use a walk." Mimi sprang quickly from the bed, a grin spreading instantly on her face. It surprised him for a moment, seeing how happy such a simple thing could make her, but then, she had always been like that. It was, perhaps, what endeared her to him the most. Mimi sped past him and out of his bedroom, rushing to slip her feet into her pretty shoes and drag her purse and hat as Yamato found his keys and closed the door behind him.

He did not need to ask where Mimi wanted to go, content to simply follow behind her. The silence between them stretched comfortably, and Yamato started humming an old tune to himself while she swayed contentedly in front of him, her curls bouncing lightly with every step. They did not speak a word to each other until they reached a large park, and Mimi quickened her pace.

"Mimi, what – " he watched her hurry before him, her white dress fluttering around her, one hand holding on to her cream-coloured hat. He shook his head as he reached her, looking ecstatic as she rushed into the field of blooming himawari and smiling widely at him. Yamato returned a half-smile, settling down under a large tree and watching the girl frolic – yes, _frolic,_ around the flowers, occasionally chasing a butterfly or trying to catch ladybugs in the tips of her fingers. The blonde looked at his friend with what could be considered a tender expression and took his old brass harmonica out of his pocket, bringing it to his lips and closing his eyes as the melody came to him. He didn't hear Mimi sit next to him, but he could smell the sweet vanilla and cinnamon scent of her hair, and he felt his heart flutter a little bit when she snuggled close to him, warm and fragrant.

"Is that what you were working on?" she asked him.

Yamato finished the song, putting down his harmonica.

"No, that was another song," he said mildly. That was a song for another time, another moment – nothing could be gained from bringing it to life here, with her.

"Play it for me," Mimi said, leaning her back against the tree. She was sitting at a 45 degree angle, leaning against the tree in such a way that their shoulders would never meet, and he could only look at her out of the corner of his eye, or if he turned to look over his shoulder. He didn't do any of those things, but looked at the tall sunflowers in full bloom and took a deep breath. They sat there for a while, Yamato's lips busy with his harmonica and Mimi's hands busy weaving a chain of daisies, a smile playing on her lips as she listened to the sweet melody he was playing for her.

His eyes were closed and he smiled against the instrument when he felt Mimi move around the tree, tilt her head to look at him, though he wasn't looking back at her.

"Yama?" Her voice came softly, catching him by surprise. But Yamato didn't pause, because it was so soft, so sweet, that it did not interfere with his melody. He was often surprised at just how much he liked listening to her speak. She was quiet for a moment, and his tune picked up a cheerful rhythm and Yamato turned to look at her, only for a moment, just enough to see the bitter little smile she had for him.

"I'm moving to America, you know."

Yamato's eyebrow went up, and the music ceased abruptly. Mimi looked strange to him then, and he realised too late that what he had mistaken for restlessness had been anxiety.

"My parents told me a few weeks ago. I - didn't know how to tell you." Her eyes searched his for something, but whether she found it or not, Yamato could not tell. "Aren't you going to say something?" she asked him, and he could see it now, hiding in the corners of her eyes, behind each long eyelash – how hurt she was that he seemed unfazed by her words.

Yamato licked his lips, turning ever so slightly to face her just a little better, just over his shoulder. Then, the tiniest of shrugs.

"What do you want me to say?"

Instantly, he knew it was the wrong thing to ask. Mimi pressed her lips together, her hands gathering fistfuls of her dress. She crawled over next to him, her face anguished and slightly frantic. "Say nothing will change," she said quietly, dropping her head, "I don't want to leave."

Yamato looked at the girl, how her cinnamon tresses framed her oval face, how her chocolate brown eyes wrinkled at the corners when she was about to cry. He reached over and held her hand in one of his own for a moment too brief, and not brief enough. When he let go, there was a foreign weight in his chest, a small pain that he was unsure of having felt before. He didn't offer her any words or comfort, or sought to soothe her otherwise, but gently, as gently as he could, he let go of her hand and brought the harmonica back to his lips. The tune that he was offering her was slow and very, very soft. He played it delicately for her, whispering the notes so that maybe, just maybe, she was comforted.

The song ended and Yamato sighed, the corner of his lips quirking up in an ironic little smile. Without looking directly at her, knowing fully well that if he did, she'd be crying. He stood up, letting out a small breath before turning around to offer her his hand. Mimi took it without question, her fingers clumsily clutching the daisy chain she had been making. Yamato gently took it from her, examining it curiously for a moment.

"You do the strangest things, Mimi-chan," he said, weaving the last two flowers together into a little makeshift circlet that he placed on Mimi's head. He had to admit it – the effect was rather magical. Mimi-chan looked like a fairy princess in one of those terrible stories she insisted on reading, but he did not tell her this. Instead, he stuffed his hands inside his pockets and turned to walk, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Let's go back," he said, "I'm already late for practice."

And just like that, Mimi smiled. "Do you think you can play that song today? The one that you're working on, I think …"

He didn't know what made him say it, he just knew that his Mimi was going to leave, that she wanted to cry and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop either thing from happening. But things didn't have to change right then, right there – they could have one more lazy afternoon, with Mimi being impossible and him being late for band practice.


	4. Of Gods and Idols

**Author's Note:** I have this idea that Yamato loves Mimi unapologetically once he gets over the fact that he cheated on his girlfriend with her and caused heaps of trouble. You know, once everyone gets over it. I've never incorporated a whole song in any piece I've written, it feels and looks weird. The song I am using is Hozier's _Take Me To Church_.

* * *

The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you.

_"Take Me To Church", Hozier_

* * *

It was supposed to be a small gig. _One hundred people, not one more,_ they had told him. But this, this was not small. There were hundreds inside the venue, tens more outside, vying in line to get tickets to this "intimate" show. They had been prepared for a small event, quiet and small and dark. An unplugged, as a holiday treat for their fans. But their manager had called in the day before and told them that the demand for their tickets had been too high to ignore, and raising the prices of the few tickets they had was not enough. So the venue had moved and the people who had bought their tickets were issued special privileges for the inconvenience. Everyone seemed to be happy except him. Yamato didn't want this, he had things to do that night, people to see and – _oh, forget it._

He sighed as he placed his bass down, perfectly tuned. No less than three thousand people were expecting him on the other side of the stage; he could already hear the chorus of _Arctic Wolves, Arctic Wolves!_ They had dropped the "teenage" thing once they had graduated out of their teen years, but the wolfish theme was kept in an attempt to appeal to the same teenage crowd. It had worked perfectly, what with their steady fanbase of young adults and teenagers, they were doing pretty fucking great, if he did say so himself. Yamato hung his head, murmuring some words to himself; he took a deep breath and followed his band partners out, intending to deliver what the crowd had come from.

The concert was an all-round success; it was clear from the moment they stepped outside. The energy in the audience was unbelievable, and before the first song ended Yamato's blood was pounding in his ears, his heart racing. He was on an adrenaline-high. They had started the band early into their high school days and back then, it was just a hobby. They hadn't dared dream they'd go this big – Yamato hardly believed it himself when they landed their first real contract and after that, it had been success after success. Dawning on his 24th birthday, Yamato and his hand had five studio albums under their belt, of which the last three had gone platinum. Still, even though his success was nothing new, he liked having his friends around to share these moments with him. He didn't look for them in the crowd, but he knew they were there, somewhere in the VIP section and – _yes, there they were._ With them there, and with her – his eyes rested on the young woman with cinnamon hair – there was nothing he couldn't do.

Near the end of the concert, after the energy had peaked and they had switched to slower, mellower ballads, Yamato made a small announcement.

"In the spirit of the holidays," he said, his voice deep and husky from singing, "We have a rare treat for you."

The lights were shut down and a single spotlight shone on him as he took a seat at the grand piano they had prepared for him.

"This song was written for someone very dear to me," Yamato said, touching his fingers to his lips and then to his shoulder in a gesture she would understand. The song began slowly, with the rhythm of the keys.

The song was intended to elevate Mimi, to make her understand why he saw her the way he did. His lips were almost touching the microphone, and his eyes were half closed as he lost himself in the music he had written for her, hoping against hope that she too, could feel it. She had come to him always in times of need, had helped him when he needed it the most – and when he deserved it the least. Where Sora made a mess of him when he left, Mimi had taken all of him with her. She had turned him into a husk of a man, and he couldn't live with the idea of ever losing her again. She was the medicine he drank like a poison.

Yamato smiled, his eyes finding hers in the audience. Mimi shone like a beacon in the darkest night, a light that he would be able to recognise in any sky, because no star shone like her, not like his Mimi. He called her name out like a prayer, worshipped her body like a goddess. When he made love to her, it was glorifying, purifying; a rite that his body required to become blood and flesh. She, whose every cell and atom was made of stardust and he, whose every cell and atom burned to touch and become her.

And gods, she was so beautiful. Sitting there, her hand resting elegantly against her chest and her face shining unapologetically with tears – she had never been more beautiful. Yamato adored every bit of her, loved her even when she hated him. Their relationship had not been one of understanding. Most of the time passion, senseless and uncalled for – but never understanding. They were too loud, too stubborn, too rough; always too rough.

Yamato's eyes were cast downwards, fixed on the ivory keys under his fingers. There had been fights, too many to count them. They had made up so many times he no longer knew if peace was possible between them. And Mimi's words had cut to the bone on more than one occasion, but whatever anger there was could never swallow what he really felt for her.

When he had first acknowledged his feelings for her, they had been so young. Yamato was in a relationship with Sora, so sure that he was madly in love with her. But whatever he had felt for her had been tame, lukewarm at best when compared to what Mimi made him feel. Tachikawa had been … the beginning of the end, for him. He did not know how to not know her, how to not love her. They had handled it as poorly as they could've, but he could not once bring himself to feel sorry about it. Some people weren't meant to be loved patiently and kindly.

His Mimi was meant to be loved harder.

Yamato's voice rose with the melody, and he was no longer singing for the audience; he was singing for her. The melody ended in a smile and he fixed his azure eyes on the brunette who owned him so completely. Did she even know? _I love you,_ he mouthed.

In the audience, Tachikawa Mimi did not stand up but quietly and as discretely as she could, she wiped the corners of her eyes. _Idiot,_ springing something like that on her without advancing anything. The only thing that had stopped her from openly gaping at him was the idea of looking like an undignified carp while he sat there in all his glory, handsome and perfect, ethereal under the single spotlight. She was aware that every woman in the venue was holding her heart out to her Yamato, but Mimi didn't mind. She stood up, touching her fingers to her lips and then coyly to her shoulder, and he smiled widely in response. If anyone told her that the way she loved Ishida Yamato so completely was wrong, then Mimi never wanted to be right.


	5. And Thus Spake Pthonos

**Author's Note:** I really didn't mean to write this but life and circumstances people, life and circumstances.

According to Greek mythology, _Pthonos_ is the spirit of envy (of the love or passionate type), not to be confused with Nemesis, goddess of envy and retribution.

* * *

It wasn't that she hated Sora – she was her best friend, she _loved_ Sora. But she couldn't help a twinge of jealousy whenever her name came up; she couldn't help the little stab in the middle of her chest when she came across a picture of them together. She didn't say anything; she was sure none of her friends would understand. They'd accuse her of being jealous and envious and worse – a bad friend. But Mimi didn't mean to feel this way, she didn't mean to narrow her eyes whenever Sora hugged Taichi, or want to vomit whenever Taichi surprised Sora after one of his trips.

It wasn't even about Taichi. Sure, she had harboured a tiny, childish and ultimately _harmless_ crush on him, but she had been fifteen then, little more than a child. She liked the way they looked together. She thought their skin tones complemented each other, and that there was no-one better to keep Taichi in check than her friend. And she would be darned if she didn't admit that they looked the cutest when they were about to kiss, or when they held hands.

She wasn't jealous of Sora either – never had been. Sure, she had sometimes wished she was more athletic and fine, _okay_, she had whined about her opinion not being taken into consideration as often as Sora's more than once; but at the end of the day, Mimi was not an envious girl. She was proud of her friend's success, and happy to share it with her. She had always been supportive, and loyal (let's not forget that brief stint Taichi had pulled with that other girl from Yamato's Literature class). Mimi had stuck with both of them through their stupid arguments and fights and silly plans and camping trips and roadtrips and fashion disasters – she even forgave Sora for wearing a skirt and jeans at the same time, _skirts and jeans, for God's sake!_

So no, her feelings had nothing to do with Taichi, or Sora.

Her feelings had everything to do with Yamato, and how what they had was _nothing_ like Taichi and Sora.

Yamato and Mimi had started going out long before Sora and Taichi had figured out their feelings for each other. Their unsteady period had been brief and clear – they both agreed to a consensual and exclusive relationship almost right off the bat. And despite not labelling this relationship, Mimi never felt she had to. She was still off in America, and he was still in Japan and neither was in a position where that could change, so they accepted it as it was, one summer at a time. And when they day came and he decided she'd had enough of their games, she told him she loved him and Yamato – well, Yamato had loved her too.

Their relationship was strong despite their difficulties, and more fun than Mimi could ever have imagined. Sure, Yamato was a jerk most of the time, but he was devoted to Mimi (insofar as he could ever be devoted to someone) and Mimi practically lived for him. He was the one person for whom she would give anything and everything up and Yamato had never met someone as inspiring and beautiful as Mimi, no-one had ever reached into him like she had. She told him he was the person she loved the most, and he, in turn, told her she was the first woman he ever loved. And whatever they had, with their little moments that came not as often as Taichi's and Sora's, but were all the more precious because of it, seemed to be enough.

That is, until it wasn't.

Inevitably, they reached the point in their relationship where things needed to be laid out on the table. Would they continue what they had, would they adjust to a common future, or would they leave it as it was? Mimi, being the most vocal half, was the first to express her desire to know his answers to these questions. And Yamato, being the half with most commitment issues and a pathological need to run away from them, did just that. For two months he made himself scarce from Mimi's life, refusing to answer or even acknowledge the issue at hand, deflecting when she brought it up and insisting that she was only interested in fighting him. And Mimi, being the conflictive and stubborn girl that she was, would try to goad him into an argument and maybe force or coerce an answer out of him, but it was a game he had become too adept at playing and he always knew how to get out of it, making her feel childish and stupid for even bringing it up. More often than not, it was Mimi who ended up apologising for being too aggressive and insistent. And Yamato, being magnanimous as he was, forgave her.

She warned him though, far too many times, that she'd get sick of him one day. Far too many times, because he could always sweet talk her into forgiving him, convince her that things were fine for one more day, and then one more day after that. Yamato knew an idle threat when he saw one, and Mimi could not bring herself to actually follow up on them, claiming that he just needed more time, that she needed to be more understanding, that he had too much baggage to carry and she was being too stubborn and selfish, and demanding.

But two months, she figured, was more than enough time to come up with a decent answer. She gave him an ultimatum that he, as usual, ignored. And when days went by without her reaching out to him, he became increasingly anxious, and attempted several times to ease into normal conversation with her. Mimi would have none of it. She, at last, and prompted by her friends (Sora included) was clear about her desire to cut all sorts of relations with him, insisting rather forcefully that she had no wish to remain his friend. How could she, when his attitude had been so hurtful for her? Yamato, whether out of indifference or pride, refuted her decision only half-heartedly, arguing about it one night only to forget all about it the next day.

Which brought her here, melting into her couch while scrolling down her phone's screen, scowling at the sight of Sora and Taichi almost kissing in the middle of Rainbow Bridge. She liked the picture, of course. Typed a trio of hearts and some cutesy caption congratulating her friends, but the scowl never left her face and after the third or fourth (or fifteenth) picture, she tossed her phone at her bed, burying her face in a pillow. Mimi screamed, loud enough to burn holes through the fabric and when she came up for air, her eyes were red and her cheeks were blotched and she could no longer pretend that it didn't hurt, and that she wasn't crying over a _boy_. She had spent the past five months crying over Yamato, for heaven's sake.

And she was jealous – completely, absolutely, _irrevocably_ jealous of Sora's smile and of Taichi's grip on her hand. Seeing them together made her happy because they were her friends and she was a champion for love and happy-ever-afters, but it also felt as though with each smile, they stabbed a fresh dagger inside her chest. Because why, _why_ should they be so happy when she was absolutely miserable? That she couldn't find it in her heart to be purely happy for them was slowly killing her, adding to the fact that every day that passed and Yamato didn't call was slowly wasting her away. She was green with envy because her friend, whom she loved with her heart, had found what Mimi had spent all her life looking for, and the worst part was Sora wasn't even trying.


	6. A Grade of Silver

**AN:** I had no intentions whatsoever to write this piece but I felt compelled by your review, dear guest.

I think at this point, Yamato is just very confused. _I'm_ very confused about his feelings as well, so I'm open to hear your interpretations.

**Fun fact:** Pure silver is too soft to be shaped into functional objects, so a degree of other alloys are used to give it strength without taking beauty from it. This is the case for sterling silver, which contains 92.5% of pure silver and 7.5% of some other metal, usually copper.

* * *

As he poured himself his fourth drink of the night, Yamato caught sight of a girl in a pretty pink skirt and his lips involuntarily quirked into a little smile. He hadn't meant to, _honestly_, but he couldn't help but think of Tachikawa Mimi when he happened to chance upon the unfortunate colour. He blinked, the smile forgotten as he brought the cheap plastic cup to his lips and joined his friends in a bout of good-natured laughter that he wasn't quite a part of at the moment.

He checked his phone, a picture of the girl in question popping up. She was wearing a nice yellow blouse, a lone pineapple nestling between her breasts as it dangled from a long necklace. His eyes travelled to the pineapple-shaped gold earrings, and then to her easy, sweet smile. He remembered when she had found the little studs, how happy she had been when she had forced the little box into his face so that he too, could be happy about them. Yamato smiled before the picture disappeared. Mimi had almost stopped messaging him at this point (something that pleased and irritated him in equal measures) and he thought these pictures were a last, desperate attempt to get his attention.

It wasn't really working – definitely not the way he assumed she wanted. Yamato didn't really think of Mimi; not in the way he had months ago, when he had last seen her. When he thought of her, he did not think of when he'd see her smiling at him again, or what it would feel like to kiss her after these six months. When Yamato thought about Mimi, he remembered her crying and telling him she'd miss him. He thought of holding her in his sleep and feeling the wetness of her tears, and he remembered the desperate clutch she'd had on his heart. Then he'd remember the fighting, and how he managed to upset her with the littlest, stupidest things. He remembered feeling inadequate and constantly being chided – and being absolutely unable of understanding her when she got into one of those moods.

Of course he loved the girl, how could he not? She had crawled into the space between his ribs and made a home out of his chest. But loving Mimi and tending to her had been a tiring affair, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could have kept it up anyway. He thought that the rift between them had happened naturally, but he had the funny feeling that if he stopped to examine it closely then Mimi's words would be real and it would all be his fault. It was easier then, to just let her battle this one by herself until she was exhausted and gave up on it altogether. _It,_ he thought, because he couldn't quite stomach the idea of her giving up on him.

When Mimi called him out on his indifference, he had been hurt. He hated when she called him selfish, and infantile, and unfair. Unfair! When she was all the way in New York City, demanding things he probably couldn't have given her even if she _was_ in Odaiba. He didn't want to think of her when he went home to an empty bed, and he didn't want to wake up missing her scent in the morning. Yamato didn't want to feel so full of her and then so empty because they had parted ways and she had taken pieces of him he hadn't known he'd had. He didn't want to think of the night he held her and told her _I love you so much; you don't even know,_ like a man drowning. How he had felt like a dead man when she had walked away from him that final night.

That had been months ago. Yamato didn't stay in bed missing her; he thought she had been one of the best things that had happened to him in the past two years, yes; but he no longer needed her like he had then. Her hold on him, which had kept him afloat, felt oppressive now. When he saw the pictures she had posted of their time together, Yamato felt as though that had happened in another lifetime, to another person. He didn't need to wonder why she hadn't taken them down even after it became painfully obvious he would _never_ post one himself; Tachikawa Mimi was too proud to admit how much that hurt her. But it did, Yamato was sure of it. He hadn't meant to but he would feel like such a hypocrite if he had, when he held her hand so loosely and she held on to him like dear life.

Mimi had threatened to leave him so many times, he wasn't sure he heard her anymore. It seemed silly to him, so he kissed her and he made love to her and held her to him when they fell asleep. And when they were apart and she brought it up, he told her not to start another argument, told her how beautiful she was in that picture, how lovely her hands and her voice and her hair were. He told her he missed the honey in her eyes. And Mimi would melt on the other side of the world, soft and pliable in his hands. He thought he liked her better like this, loved her for being soft in all the places where he was hard.

His phone buzzed. It was another picture, but this time he could see her hand resting elegantly on her lap. Her perfectly manicured nails were painted in a bright shade of bubblegum pink and she had a simple brown string bracelet on her right wrist, tying opposing ends of a single small sterling silver heart.

_Have you lost yours yet?_ the caption read.

Yamato put his phone away and downed the rest of his drink in two gulps. Small things like that discomfited him. He looked at his own wrist, where he wore a bracelet that matched the one in the picture. She had given it to him five minutes before she had left for the airport, a plea for him to keep it even if he never wore it. She had apologised and rambled a little about how it was very gender-neutral and cute enough to wear and how he could just turn it around to the inside of his wrist if he didn't want people to notice the little heart and how silly she felt for giving him such a present; but Yamato had asked her to help him slip it on, and he had kissed her through her tears and swallowed all the sobs she would give him.

When they wore it together they sent pictures to each other and he knew that he had made Mimi happy when she realised he didn't take it off. But that had been then, when he would wake up to her sweet messages or voicenotes, and cute pictures in the morning. Now, though Yamato may have felt inclined to tell her _no, I could never lose it,_ he did not. He couldn't risk telling her he thought about her when he remembered he had it on, couldn't tell her he missed her when another girl had the gall to wear his Mimi's colours in his presence. Yamato couldn't risk opening himself up to her again and knowing that after months of his unjust and harsh treatment, Mimi would open her arms to him and tell him: _Was it a long journey? Did it take you long to find your way back to me? You're here now, welcome home._

He had always thought the day she'd finally leave him – not physically but _really_, _truly_ _leave him,_ Yamato wouldn't even realise she had done it. He hadn't expected her to take everything back little by little – he certainly did not expect the hollow in his chest to ring so cold. But now it was and he could feel it in the way she replied to his short messages, when he bothered to try to talk to her at all. There were no complaints, no compliance. Mimi fell easily into small talk and wished him luck, a good day, a good night's sleep. She did not send him her love, or her kisses; she sent him the salutations he would expect from someone he occasionally shared an elevator with. And he knew that when she sent him pictures, Mimi was not trying to reach him back. She was trying to let him go, and the most decent thing Yamato could do was help her. He refused her attempts at phone calls, claiming to be busy or asleep or downright being a jerk and ignoring them. He thought that if he heard her loud and clear on the other side of the phone, his resolve would somehow falter. His tongue could slip, and he knew just how easy it would be to fall in love with her again.

When she had gone, Mimi had taken home away with her. And God, they both deserved so much more than this.


	7. On Special Occasions

**Author's Note:** I think this one would be a couple of weeks after the past two. Maybe a month or so. I hadn't intended to write these following a specific line, but they all seem to occur in the same universe. At least I can offer you continuity.

* * *

They had been over for a while now, of that there was no doubt. _Not that Yamato ever had the gall to stand up to her like a man and verbally accept it …_ but Mimi understood it was how things were. She had given him an ultimatum and he had ignored it, giving her no choice but to accept that her prince in shining armour was an insensitive jerk that she could not count on; not now, not ever. Still, she didn't think she could be faulted for expecting some sort of reaction, some reaching out on his part – it was a special occasion, wasn't it?

But thinking about it rationally, Mimi knew she couldn't expect anything good to come from him anymore. He'd already disappointed her on all other fronts, after all. There was that time a few weeks before when a close relative of hers had passed away. Mimi had been sort of drifting in between sobriety and a melancholy that made her feel drunk and hazed, and in a brief but courageous stint she had confessed to Tsukine that she missed Yamato. "I wish he was here," she had blurted out, "He was always warm, I think…" He had always been able to make her feel better and she thought that with just the right sort of provocation, he could be this person again.

Before her friend could stop her, Mimi had texted him. A simple_ hello,_ which he answered promptly while cynically commenting he hadn't heard from her in so long. Mimi bristled, but she very elegantly said that she had been busy with mourning and caring for her family members. Yamato had been very methodical in asking who had passed away, how it had happened, if they were all okay. She almost felt better.

And then, _"My most sincere condolences to you and your family."_

Mimi had been beside herself. Her eyes were tearing up and she felt a coldness spreading from the middle of her chest until the tips of her fingers were cold and numb. "_My most sincere condolences!"_ she exclaimed. As if they had been colleagues at work and occasionally shared an elevator … as she replayed the conversation in her mind, Mimi massaged her temples.

_Thank you, I guess._

_What's wrong?_

_Oh, nothing._

_Tell me what's wrong._

_That made me feel like a co-worker of yours. Less than that, even._

A pause.

_Well, it's hard, knowing what to say in these circumstances._

_Yes,_ she wanted to tell him, _it must be so hard to think of comforting words for someone who just lost a family member. Poor you._ But she swallowed the venom on her tongue and typed something else, something gracious and polite to avoid another confrontation. Those biting remarks of hers had been what ended up pushing him away, after all.

_I understand. My family and I appreciate your kind words._

She stopped talking about it after that, but when she got home she had made sure to _give his most sincere condolences_ to her parents, who looked at her understandingly and let her storm away into her bedroom without discussing the matter further. Later, when her mother asked, "Does it bother you that he doesn't love you anymore?" Mimi thought she would die.

"I can live with that," she had retorted, "It's the thought of me not loving him anymore that breaks my heart." At least she knew now she hadn't missed out on anything when it came to being comforted.

When her birthday came along, the matter was brought up again.

"Do you think he'll remember?" one of her sweet and silly American friends asked her one day, and Mimi only tensed up briefly.

"I hope not," she said honestly, "I don't know what I'll do if he sends me his salutations." The last word was almost spat.

When the accursed day came, Mimi almost felt good. She had celebrated over the weekend and when sharing a glass of wine with an old romantic interest, she had almost succumbed to the tears. But she had swallowed the rosé down to the last drop and pasted a smile on her face, because Yamato had no place in her party and in her life. She was walking out of the library when the text came in.

_It's a princess' birthday today!_

"But that's sweet, Mimi-chan," her friend said, "I think it was a nice detail."

Mimi shrugged, staring at the screen in her hands and feeling her body go limp for a second. "I guess," she said, but she couldn't stop the little smile from growing, "It _is_ sweet, isn't it?" Certainly could've been worse. It was a nice way of starting the conversation, making her feel like the princess she certainly was. Mimi laughed a little. "At least he didn't offer me congratulations and blessings," she said with a shake of her head. She didn't think she could take another generic phrase like that.

The next text came in as she reached the car.

_Congratulations and blessings._

Mimi stopped walking, feeling the heat rise to her closed fists and stomping her foot down with a vice. She wanted to break her phone, she wanted to crash the car – she wanted to break Ishida's pretty fucking nose. It didn't matter that he made small talk after that, that he wished her a good day and asked about her celebration. Mimi answered without interest and feeling her fingers weigh like lead as she put on a politely interested tone into her words, a touch of gratitude for effect.

_At least tell me you love me, insensitive jerk._

She hadn't meant to send that, had she? Mimi sighed, knowing there would be no reply after that. He had a tendency to disappear whenever Mimi so much as hinted at the existence of intimacy between them. Today would be no more special than yesterday or the day before. But she would be reminded of it later, after lunch with her parents and dinner with her friends when one of her old college neighbours sent her a sweet text.

_My sweet girl, happy birthday! I love you and I am really happy you were my dorm neighbour, I really hope to see you again soon. In just a short time you became someone so important to me and I mean it when I say I wish you the best and that you have a home here if you ever decide to visit. _

To say that Mimi was indignant was an understatement. She had to excuse herself to avoid crumbling into tears right at the table and it took her a moment to gather herself again. How humiliated she felt when receiving such warm and loving words from a neighbour she had befriended for a few months only while Yamato had sent his _congratulations _and _blessings_. She couldn't understand, logically, where their relationship had degraded to that point. She had always thought that if he had told her how he felt, she might have been able to deal with it in a healthier way and there would be more between them than this strangled conversation. It was almost as if he wanted to negate that there had ever been something more between them, but Mimi didn't think she could stomach pretending he wasn't someone important in her life.

But surely nothing could be worse than being slowly reassured of how indifferent he was towards her one special moment at a time.


	8. Excuses For Why We Failed At Love

**Author's Note:** This was inspired by Warsan Shire's poem of the same name. Quite frankly I just adapted the content to suit Yamato and Mimi, so while the words are mine, the style and form are Warsan's own. :)

The last line I borrowed from an original story I wrote back in 2011, and it translates to: _"it's wrong, but I love you"_ and _"no, it is right"_.

* * *

1\. The men in my family are cursed.

2\. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you.

3\. My mother walked away with my brother once; I don't think I was ever the same.

4\. No, I love you. I just don't know how to not make you cry.

5\. I don't know how to love broken things.

6\. We are not like your parents.

7\. You never learned how to hold me right.

8\. I loved you, but you were a small war.

9\. He locked himself somewhere I can never reach.

10\. Maybe love is always in the wrong time-zone.

11\. I still write songs about me leaving you.

12\. We were always too rough, even when we were trying to be gentle.

13\. I don't know how to not be lonely.

14\. She is too intense, I can barely look at her without getting burnt.

15\. I learned the word _divorce _before I ever understood what love was.

16\. You carry too much baggage.

17\. Being an only child made you selfish.

18\. You can't make homes out of human beings.

19\. We're better off as friends, you know?

20\. You never learned how to wait.

21\. Your hands are too small; I can't give you what I am.

22\. Ice is a difficult thing to love.

23\. No, he loves me. He just makes me cry a lot.

24\. She lived too far away, I could never ask her to come back.

25\. You're in love with someone else.

26\. You were meant to be loved harder.

27\. I cannot love what I cannot understand.

28\. You exist elsewhere and within me.

29\. We were worlds apart.

30\. He said _"ça fait mal, mais je t'aime"_. I said, _"non, ça fait juste"._


	9. Two-Hearted Spider

**Summary:** In which Yamato reflects about himself, Taichi and Mimi.

* * *

Every move you make, breaks me, breaks me.

"Two Hearted Spider", by Editors.

* * *

He watched her for long moments, his azure gaze fixed on her delicate, petite frame. When the rain stopped she had been the first out of the house, almost knocking an indignant Taichi on her way. He was leaning casually on the balcony while Taichi sat on the ledge, resting his back against a column. The house was designed after the Western fashion, a gift from Tachikawa Keisuke to his family and one he had very kindly lent to his daughter's friends for a long weekend in the countryside.

Their gaze followed her in silence as she drew herself to her fullest height, her face looking up at the clear skies with an impossibly bright smile. The white dress she wore was almost sinful on her, showing lengths of creamy skin that had made their eyes wander far more than she may have intended.

"What on earth is she smiling about?" Taichi asked after a moment.

"A rainbow, a ladybug…" Yamato trailed off, waving an airy hand. "Something like that."

From afar, they heard Mimi laugh. "Yama-kun! Tai-kun!" she exclaimed, "There's the brightest rainbow I've _ever_ seen! You're missing out."

Taichi narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. "You're cheating. I don't know _how_, but you are." His tone was quiet but cool, almost jealous.

The blonde shrugged, unfazed. "Don't pretend you don't know what sort of thing makes her happy."

On any other day he could ignore him, feign ignorance or blindness. But not today. Not when Taichi's eyes were burning holes through the side of his head, not when he could feel him practically _smoldering_ in his proximity and her presence.

"She loves you," Taichi said suddenly, almost matter-of-factly. He'd managed to keep most of the bite out of his tone too, a feat that Yamato could commend him for.

Taichi's eyes, brown like warm chocolate, were fixed on her as she twirled around, basking in the sunlight. And while he looked at Mimi, Yamato looked at him. He knew the lift of his smile, recognised the gleam in his eyes. He didn't need to turn to her to know that she'd be smiling at Taichi, blowing him a soft kiss that he would try to catch with an open, wide palm.

He looked up just in time to see her blowing a dandelion, making a secret wish. She was biting her bottom lip, hiding the smile that Yamato knew belonged to him, and him alone. He longed to touch her. He nodded at her, grateful for her gift and she dissolved in peals of laughter as she turned her back to both of them, disappearing into the field of blooming sunflowers.

_It was so obvious, and yet…_

"She loves you, also," Yamato said, the smile on his lips as cold as the one Taichi was giving him.


	10. A Hundred Kisses

**Summary:** In which Mimi finds Yamato staring, and showers him with a hundred loving kisses.

* * *

Sometimes she found him staring. Not brooding or sulking but staring gently, blinking slowly, as if he were afraid she'd disappear if he moved too suddenly. Mimi would tilt her head to one side, her lips curling upwards in a smile and ask him _'What is it?'_ and he would shake his head, laugh to himself, tell her not to worry.

Other times, he would give her this _look_, like she was the single most marvelous thing he had ever seen and when she asked, he would only laugh, tell her she was being silly and ignore her tantrums.

But there were times when Yamato would stop whatever he was doing and reach out to touch her. Just a simple touch, like hold her hand, or touch her hair, or kiss her shoulder. He would rest his forehead against hers and he would close his eyes before kissing every one of her eyelashes.

"Sometimes," he would say, "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

And Mimi would shower him with a hundred kisses and feel him dissolve in her very hands, hold on to her as if he were holding on to dear life.

For Mimi, loving him was never a choice. He had shone like a beacon, she'd have been able to find him with her eyes closed. Yamato had been the only one for her, she had known it from the first time she had seen him laugh, far too gone already to consider that he was spoken for. It was not so simple for him, she knew. He had had to choose between the love of his life and his best friend, break someone's heart, perhaps more than once.

So when he said things like that, Mimi wanted to cry and kiss all apologies out of his mouth because loving him had never been a choice for her, but he'd had a choice, and had still chosen her.

She closed her book, sauntering over to him and settling in his lap, tucking her head between his neck and shoulder. "Let's go to bed," she told him, the words spoken against his neck and sending shivers down his spine, "You can remind me."


	11. Indulgences

**Author's Note: **Technically, I think this can be read as a Michi too but it really isn't enough to stand on its own, I guess.

* * *

**Summary: **In which Yamato and Taichi indulge Mimi in her potentially embarrassing, potentially brilliant, exploits.

* * *

When Taichi knocked on the door, he had expected everything but Mimi's smiling face to answer his call.

"You're early," she said, letting him in.

"You're not supposed to be here," Taichi pointed out, eyes narrowing at her. "He said you wouldn't _be_ here."

Mimi sighed, waving a careless hand. "I had a change of heart."

"It's supposed to be a _guy's_ night, Mi," Taichi groaned, closing one eye as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, pretending to be bothered by her fussing over him.

"You'll hardly notice me," she assured him, "I'll be busy and I _promise_ not to get in your way."

"Yamato!" Taichi yelled, ignoring her, "Why is your girlfriend here?"

Yamato looked up from his book as Taichi stormed into the living room, all protests and expletives dying in his face once he caught sight of his best friend. The blonde was sitting placidly, one leg folded over the other and very fluffy, very girly white socks on his feet. But most of the attention was commanded by the fact that his blonde hair was pulled back by a black headband and his face looked very, very green.

"You're early," he said, his lips barely moving. "And _why_ are you looking at me like an idiot?"

Taichi's eyebrow arched, his lips twitching into an amused little smile.

"Why the _fuck_ is your face green, Ishida?"

"Oh," he said, as if he had forgotten it was, "It's a mask."

"I can see that, but why the fuck are you wearing it?" Taichi insisted. He looked torn between laughing until his ribs hurt and feeling embarrassed for his obviously emasculated friend.

"It's mint and julep," Mimi answered, walking in with cold beers for both of them, "We always get them on Fridays."

"_We,_ Yamato?" he asked, turning to him with a groan, "Excuse me?"

Yamato shrugged, amused by his friend's surprise and bewilderment.

"It's good for my skin," he said, accepting the bottle gratefully from Mimi's hands, "Helps get rid of excess oil."

"Excess oil?" Taichi stammered, "What – why –_ what did you do to my best friend?"_ he asked, turning wildly to Mimi, who seemed to find the whole exchange quite amusing.

"You know," she told him, coming closer to him (far too close for comfort, Taichi could practically count her freckles) and making him swallow with difficulty, "Your skin looks a bit dry. You would benefit _so much_ from a few drops of rosehip oil."

"Get away from me, _witch_," he groaned, "I don't even know what rosehip _is._"

"No? I'll be right back, then!" Mimi said, clapping her hands together and rushing towards the bathroom.

"Whatever happened to _'not getting in our way'_?" he yelled after her, sending a death glare to Yamato, who was still reading to his leisure. "I'm blaming you," he added, tilting the bottle towards the blonde.

"Just indulge her," Yamato sighed, "She had a shitty day and Sora had to cancel their dinner date because of work."

"Just because _you're_ whipped doesn't mean I have to be too, you know?" Taichi complained, but there was considerably less bite to his words now and Yamato only rolled his eyes, barely acknowledging the comment. He brought the bottle to his lips. "Is she okay?" he added, his voice very quiet.

Yamato turned another page. "She'll live," he replied, "Just a minor setback."

He wanted to press the issue (though he knew better than to do that) but Mimi returned with a handful of products and a blue headband that she forced on Taichi's head. "I promise you'll love it," she said, immediately smothering him with a warm and soft little towel, wiping his face clean. Taichi complained, flailing his arms and cursing very loudly and very graphically, but Yamato noticed how there was very little actual _fight_ in his struggle.

And later, when she left them with homemade appetizers, more beer, and the smell of baking cake; Taichi could hardly find it in him to complain about the fact that there was a sticky, cold pink substance generously spread on his visage.

"I hate your girlfriend," he murmured, biting into a delightful little quiche, his eyes focused on the game in front of them.

"Yeah," Yamato murmured, amused, "You make sure she hears that from you."

When the rest of the guys arrived Taichi was grateful for the mask, as it kept his dark blush hidden from them.

"Er, do we have the wrong house?" Jyou asked with a chuckle, while Daisuke sneakily snapped a picture of his older friends.

"Sorry to disturb you ladies," Takeru said, taking a seat between his brother and _almost_ brother-in-law. "Might we join you for the game?"

"You're funny," Taichi laughed darkly, "Your brother's _funny_, Yamato."

Ken brought a second round of beers for them and a first for the newcomers, chuckling as he took a seat, his eyes focused on the television set to avoid laughing too hard.

"Should we even ask?" Koushiro began, biting his bottom lip, "Or is that a girlfriend exclusive kind of thing?"

Both sets of eyes narrowed in his directions. "I expected it from everyone but you, Izumi," Yamato muttered, while Taichi asked him very kindly if he would like to feel how a girl hit.

Later, when Mimi came back to announce it was time for them to wash off, Taichi would curse himself silently, unable to keep his hands from the soft, velvety feel of his new and fresh skin. He wouldn't admit it to her or Yamato even, who seemed to really know what was going on, spritzing a cool and fragrant liquid on his face and grinning before getting more drinks for everyone, but his face felt _fucking_ _fantastic_.

He snapped a quick photo of the mint green bottle and went back, a beer bottle in hand and a rosy undertone to his cheeks that had his friends in snickers again.

"I _really_ hate your girlfriend," he said, taking another swig and ignoring Yamato's smug little smirk. "And I hate _you_, too."


	12. In the heat of the morning

**Author's Note: **The original piece was written in Spanish, but I liked it to much it deserved to be translated and placed here.

* * *

He watched them for long minutes, unable to close his eyes or turn, get out of there and pretend he never saw anything. They had fallen asleep in the living room, the couch a mess of limbs, cushions and sheets. Their legs were tangled around the other, so much that it was difficult to know where he ended and where she began. The space between his jaw and his chest seemed to have been carved out especially for her; their faces so close that his lips brushed her pale forehead. The tips of her white fingers grazed his jawline – she seemed to have fallen asleep caressing him. He looked at his messy hair and her own loose curls, flowing like the waves she once claimed to love in the ocean of his eyes.

When he left the room, quick and silent, Yamato did not know what hurt him most: seeing Taichi's hand resting on Mimi's waist, or the easy way in which she leaned towards him, as if there was no safer place in this world than his arms.


	13. Tournesol

**Notes:** I just really, _really_ wanted to write something with 'sunflowers' as a theme. Mostly because I like the idea that he's a sunflower and she's his sun. *swoon* I also don't know whether to close this collection and start publishing individually. Thoughts?

* * *

_"The sunflower is mine, in a way."_

Vincent Van Gogh

* * *

Sometimes, he didn't know _why_, but her smile made him feel funny. He had heard the girls in class giggle about butterflies in their stomach, but he had never actually thought it felt that way. Yet here he was, staring like a fool and there she was, smiling, and he felt as though he had swallowed a whole swarm of them. When she looked up and caught him staring, he stared off into the distance, feigning a look of perfect nonchalance. He couldn't tell whether she was convinced or not.

He had been staring out into the sunflowers for more minutes than he could care to count. Standing tall and proud, so bright, so wide, so yellow; they welcomed the summer breeze. When she walked by he turned his face upwards, towards her, following her way after she had gone and her smile had gone with her. He blinked back, wondering if this was how sunflowers felt when they followed the sun.

Her laugh was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He thought of it as he brought the old brass harmonica to his lips, replaying the sound of her laughter after Taichi had told them that one stupid joke. He hadn't found it funny but now, he wished he was a little more like Taichi, so that he too, could tell jokes and hear her laugh often. Instead, all he seemed to do was startle her, make her ears turn pink. He groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead and letting his harmonica drop.

"Why'd you stop?"

Yamato looked around, finding Mimi peering at him curiously with large, honey-coloured eyes. He felt the colour rising to his neck and swallowed thickly, averting his eyes.

"I didn't feel like playing anymore," he half-lied.

Mimi sighed wistfully, tilting her face up to the sky.

"Can I try?" she asked shyly, and Yamato didn't know what to say. He just looked at her dumbly for a moment, then shook his head and, upon her crestfallen expression, shook it again. He offered it bluntly.

"Sure."

Mimi's face lit up and she held it delicately in her pretty little hands. When she brought the instrument to her lips, she almost kissed it, as delicately as she would a lover's lips. The sounds she made were not graceful, or particularly beautiful. But the notes were soft though messy, and he laughed when she released it with a happy giggle.

"I don't think it likes me very much," she laughed.

"What's there not to like?"

Mimi bit her lip, tried to hide her blush behind long, flowing curls. Yamato wanted the earth to swallow him.

"Do you like sunflowers?" she suddenly asked. She was sitting down, legs stretched out in front of her.

"I guess," he answered after a moment, his thoughts lingering on the bright petals. "They've never had cause to offend me."

"I think they're beautiful," she paused, pursing her lips. She glanced at him sideways, blushing. "They kind of remind me of you."

Yamato turned so fast he thought his neck would snap.

"How - how am I like a sunflower?" he asked, mouth gone suddenly dry, trying not to think about her thinking him _beautiful, _of all things.

"I dunno," Mimi said, blushing furiously, "I guess ... I guess you've changed. Back then, you were always so gloomy, you know? Small," she smiled at him, "—look at you now."

He did not want to look at himself now, too stunned by the admission that she herself looked at him and _noticed_ things.

"You think I've changed?" He knew he had. No-one could come out of a life-threatening adventure at eleven and be untouched. And he was dealing with that, dealing with this new life and new friends and brother and mother — and sometimes it was still too much. He wondered if she could see that too.

There was a little notepad on her hand and she had a dark pen between her fingers, bent over to scribble something on the page. She looked up, slightly dazed. "What's the kanji for sunflower?"

"Himawari," he paused, scooting closer to her and taking her notebook from her hands, just barely brushing her shoulder. "_Muku_ means 'toward', _hi_ means 'sun' and _aoi_..."

"—hollyhock?"

He looked at her, surprised and Mimi gave an awkward sort of shrug.

"Sora was teaching me ikebana," she explained. "It's fun."

Yamato stared at her neat handwriting, his own slanted kanjis glinting with still wet ink. He glanced up and she was looking out into the gardens, her eyes like pools of molten gold. He felt the heat rise to his neck and then go down to his fingertips, settling in his stomach.

"_Tournesol_," he murmured, surprised his own tongue did not choose this moment to betray him.

"Pardon?"

"Tournesol," he repeated absently, avoiding her gaze. "It's French, for sunflower."

Her eyes lit up and she leaned closer to him, so close that he could count the freckles on the bridge of her nose.

"_Tourunusoru_," she repeated, and he laughed a little at her accent, surprised he'd never noticed before what a nice timbre her voice had. "Am I saying it right?"

"Almost," he told her, and the corners of his lips crinkled in a smile.

"Touru — toure, _tournesol_," she beamed. "It's such a beautiful word."

She turned back to her notepad, drawing a tall flower and scribbling the word in a corner. He looked away once more once he saw the little heart she drew next to it, feeling hot and clumsy and embarrassed to be caught looking over her shoulder. He wanted to say something else, teach her more words and make her beam like that, but instead he sat back, relaxing his shoulders and bringing the harmonica to his lips. He was startled by the lingering sweetness, a remnant of her lipgloss and, when she asked why he was red in the face, he could do nothing but pretend not to hear her, upping the sound of his harmonica.


	14. La Vie en Rose

**Notes:** This goes out to **soojinah**, because I wouldn't have bothered translating it if she hadn't asked for it. Thank you.

* * *

Elle est entré dans mon cœur / une part de bonheur / dont je connais la cause.

_"La vie en rose"_, Edith Piaf

* * *

**1\. Salmon Pink**

The days are gray, as if a train pulled up a little of Sunday and not enough of Saturday with it. Winter has come and the temperature has dropped considerably: today, it will snow. He knows it because his eyelashes are frozen in the frigid air and his lips turn blue when he doesn't move them enough (he almost never does and so they're always blue these days). He walks to school with his hands deep inside his pockets, clinging on desperately to the warmth in his legs. She comes out of nowhere and is a clash of colour against the white snow.

"Yamato-kun!" she exclaims. "It's February, are you _mental_?"

He follows her gaze and knows she condems his lack of a scarf. He shrugs his shoulders because it's easier to do that than explain that, since his mother left, his father always forgets to remind him he must wear one during the winter. Sometimes Yamato forgets too. He doesn't blame him, Hiroaki is a practical man and proper accesorizing has never been a particular strength of his.

Mimi reaches him and removes her own scarf, long, thick and scandalously pink. She throws it around his neck and immediately, the warmth reaches the tips of his ears; not just because it's warm like a spring kiss or because it smells like Christmas, or because Mimi is so close that he can see the coat of clear, glittery mascara she has worn on her eyelashes, but because he can count the freckles on the bridge of her nose and he has a mind, suddenly, to kiss each one of them.

"Mimi-san...!"

"You can give it back when we're out," she says happily, turning around with a wink and adjusting her white earmuffs, running away from him before he has a chance to complain. He is left alone, lips half open and hand in the air. His lips are no longer blue, but he adjusts the scarf around his face and pretends it's to guard himself from the cold air.

He doesn't give it back because that afternoon, Mimi leaves school with a boy he does not know and he thinks it'd be rude to interrupt. He walks back home with Jyou and Taichi, but he refrains from actively participating in the conversation; there is little a boy can say when he's been wearing a pink scarf all day around his neck. Taichi tries to laugh about it but Yamato kindly reminds him of the ugly yellow sweater Sora has knitted and made him wear. _That_ shuts him up, cheeks pink and ruddy under golden-kissed skin. Jyou, for the first time, enjoys not being the butt of the joke.

**2\. Cotton Candy**

She has this bad habit of touching her hair when she's nervous, or happy, or tired, that puts him on edge. She has spent the entire hour asking what tone would look better with her pale complexion. Koushiro is tired of listening and has broken out his headphones since their second hour; Jyou scratches his head trying to figure out the difference between _French rose_ and _Persian pink_; Taichi has frankly given up. Yamato reaches out to her, grabs a lock of her hair in between his fingers, surprising himself at how soft and fine it feels, and how good she smells up close.

"Maybe just the tips," he says, "like cotton candy."

He is even more surprised when she shows up next Tuesday, with the tips of her hair dipped in liquid candy.

"D'you like it?" she asks. "I hope so, Sora-chan helped me do it. Toshiko-san almost _passed out_ when she saw the bathroom."

Mimi laughs and he doesn't know what to say; he never thought she'd listen to him. But now that he can see her, he thinks he wasn't wrong at all, she really does look good.

He smiles softly.

"You make pink look nice."

The colour of her cheeks matches the tips of her hair and she hides behind her hands, giggling. Yamato doesn't know why that makes him feel as if his stomach has been flipped around.

**3\. Hot Pink**

He thinks summer is both a blessing and a curse. The heat is unbelievable and Yamato starts sleeping on the floor, trying to find the cool parts of the room before his father finally decides central air conditioning is a necessity. Now when he cannot sleep, it's not because he's hot. Well, not _that_ kind of hot. The real problem is that summer has brought violent changes in his friends' wardrobes, Mimi's especially. Sometimes he thinks she does it on purpose, because there's no way she doesn't know how _sinful_ those summer dresses are on her.

It's white, it's short and if you asked him, it's perfect for her. He slams his shades on and tries to concentrate on a nondescript point to her right, ignoring her while she runs around with Hikari and some stray puppy, dissolving in cool peals of laughter under the sprinklers. He thinks, too insistently, that he doesn't know what he'll do if she comes out of there with her dress stuck to her skin.

She does and Yamato ends up thanking Jyou for always bringing an extra towel in these cases. One must be prepared, definitely. He makes a mental note not to laugh again at poor Jyou.

By the time night comes the image of her laughing loudly while Jyou offers her the towel, is tattooed in his mind. She only looked at it for a second before extending it on the hot sand, removing her dress completely and revealing the pink swimsuit she wore underneath, wearing a large sunhat as if that fixed everything somehow. Sleep comes turbulently the next few nights.

**4\. Carnation**

Sora tells him, for the tenth time, what a good friend he is. He knows this, but sometimes he regrets it viciously, and such is the case now. Offering to manage the flower shop while his friend went to her tennis match seemed like an insignificant favour at the time but now, he knows what a noble sacrifice it really is. _Jyou really doesn't get enough credit,_ he thinks while he sets aside another bland arrangement that he knows would make Toshiko-san cry if she saw it. He is thankful, not for the first time, that she's too busy with her ikebana school.

The bell rings and he raises his eyes, unworried. Flowers are a more popular present than he thought and he still doesn't understand why. Fresh in the morning, blossoming in the afternoon, dead by the next day; they seem to have a truly depressing life cycle. Sora has said many times that it's part of their charm, but he has turned deaf to her words. She's said he isn't as sensible after all, but she always does so with a smile. He still doesn't know what's so funny about it.

Mimi appears in front of him and, as usual, catches him unaware.

"Where's Sora?" she demands. She doesn't ask _why Yamato, why there, why then,_ just _where's Sora?_

"Tennis," he replies, uninterested. "I'm covering for her."

Mimi seems to hesitate for a moment and then her shoulders drop, disappointed.

"Sometimes I wonder what she's got a phone for, if she never uses it."

"She didn't tell you?"

She gives him a look and he swears, deep inside, some flowers actually wilted.

"It's all Taichi's fault!" she exclaims irritably. "She's starting to become like him!" She sits suddenly in one of the small flower-cushioned chairs and Yamato can't help but laugh.

"You're staying?"

"Whatever," she scoffs. "I'm already _here_."

She spends the next two hours floating from corner to corner, kissing the flowers. She picks a bunch of daisies and knits them together in a makeshift crown that she places on his head. Yamato, too busy dealing with clients (people _really_ buy too many flowers), lets her.

It's time to close up shop and he makes sure he counts the money, locks the register and updates the inventory like Sora taught him to do, paying for the daisies out of his own pocket, behind her back.

"I'm off," the girl announces, looking at her phone. "Mum wants us to have dinner together tonight. _Again_."

Yamato stares at her and for a moment, the silence between them becomes uncomfortable. Mimi opens her mouth but before she says something he takes a long-stemmed carnation and softly whacks her on the head with it.

"Yama..." she says, taking the flower.

"Don't be late, then," he begins removing the daisy crown and Mimi shakes her head, hanging onto his neck and giving him a quick hug and a loud peck on the cheek.

"Keep it," she says. "I'll keep this one."

He does, for some reason, and when he gets home he hangs it behind the door.

**5\. Cherry**

She's changed, though he doesn't know exactly what.

She's still _her,_ bubbly, delicate and with a temper, air of a diva, delusions of grandeur that make all her friends laugh (and roll their eyes more often than not). But something's changed, he can _feel _it, though he doesn't know exactly how to put it in words. He takes longer than he's willing to accept to realise that, growing up, her tones have been steadily dulling. Now she doesn't wear pink on her hair, like she did in her adolescence, but her nails are painted a bright cherry and this is what he notices when, under that great tree, he kisses the tips of her fingers.

She pretends not to notice, like it's not a big deal. But they both walk on paper thin hearts on the way back home.

**6\. Ruby **

He's a complete mess, she has made him so.

There are accidental touches and innocent looks that are anything but; secret smiles and whispered words, more desperate and rushed than either of them would want them to. He thinks of the night of Koushiro's party, how her deep ruby red lipstick brought out the gold in her eyes and how she laughed, drink in hand, hair hanging low behind her.

He tries not to think about her dancing, lifting her hair up and giving him that sultry, over-the-shoulder, come hither look. But all he can think of is soft, white, creamy skin, a soft aroma of lavender and full lips against his pulse, collarbone, bony cheek.

The dark mark of her lips remains hidden on the collar of that shirt for weeks before he finally washes it.

**7\. Coral **

He has trouble remembering at first but when he does, he knows he won't forget again. She wore a soft colour on her lips, something between orange and rose, between sunrise and sunset, between sweet and opaque; between having her far away and knowing her his. She tastes like sweet, ripe peaches at the peak of summer, the first rose button in spring, drops of morning dew and honey on the tip of his tongue.

He touches her hair and buries his nose in her neck and it's like being back in grade school, her scarf wrapped tightly around him. He's fifteen again, nervous because a girl is kissing his cheek. Or seventeen, and nervous because her hugs last a couple of seconds more than he's used to and his body reacts like a handful of nerves about to explode. Or he's twenty-one, giving her what he hopes will be her last first kiss.

_Fleur du corail,_ he thinks, but he does not say it, too busy calling her so much more.

**8\. Mauve**

Her body hides too many mysteries and Yamato does not have enough time to figure them out in one night. That if he kisses her behind the ear, if he sighs upon the valley between her breasts, if he bites the inside of her thighs or touches, so softly, behind her knee. That if she gives him laughter, or sighing, or if she writes his name on the ceiling of his mouth, and turns back to laugh again.

Lips of nectar, hip like a city, eyes like a universe. The offensive garments remain on the floor, forgotten, seen for only a few seconds to memorise their colour and then ripped appart to untangle her legs like the ribbon off some prized present. He loses himself within her and if it's as such, he never wants to find himself again.

**9\. Carmine**

They carry the evidence in their eyes, their mouths, the blood-tinted cheeks (not to mention the white columns of their necks). Natsuko asks if he will ever bring her home to her and Yamato chokes on his soup.

"S-sorry?"

"Take your time," his mother says, calm. "Just let me know ahead to make something special."

Satoe, on the other hand, falls in love with her husband again when she sees her daughter daydreaming. She changes the water in the table's vase (it's tulips this time), and she hums a song she thinks she heard some years ago.

Mothers know more than their children think.

**10\. French Rose**

It takes him long to say it but when he does, there is no doubt in his eyes. Mimi stares for a moment that feels eternal, giving him a chance to see every detail in her face that has called out to him since they were but kids.

"Say it again," she says, face straight.

Yamato arches an eyebrow and repeats:

"I love you."

Mimi closes her eyes.

"Again."

"I love you."

This time, the corner of her lips twitches and Yamato fights down the urge to smile.

"Mm ... again, yeah?"

He comes closer, placing his big hands on her small waist and crushing her to him, eating her smile one kiss at a time.

"As many as you want," he murmurs. "It'll still not be enough."

He kisses her cheek, her lower lip and the tip of her tongue. Mimi opens her mouth in protest and he takes the opportunity to capture her lips again. He memorises it like he has memorised every note out of her mouth, every look out of her eyes, every funny gesture in her pale face.

_Warm rose, soft rose, deep rose, Mimi rose._


	15. Seasons

**Notes:** I'm translating some of my old works for the Mimato fandom, because my Twitter friends make me explode with OTP feels. This was a chapter in Dichotomies, and the concept was '_seasons'_.

Please enjoy.

[12/27/15]

* * *

_A long winter_

It was December when she decided to confess her feelings. That night was so cold but later, when he would remember it, he would regret that it hadn't snowed. That winter had been long and cruel; when he most needed a spark of warmth she came into his life, pressing herself between his fingers and giving him something he had long thought lost.

Sora was warm, sweet, motherly. She worried about his well-being and wanted to take care of him; and she did, always. He never thought he needed someone like her, never felt safer than when he was in her arms. Before her, Yamato felt comfortable. He could crumble, knowing she would pick him up in sweet, gentle hands and put him back together. She was devoted, faithful; Yamato had never loved someone so much, and he had never felt so loved.

The cold was there, but fainter, when she was near.

_An eternal summer_

He fell in love, for the first time, in summer. Suddenly, it was something that he didn't know how to stop. August came with a vice, waves of heat that promised adventure, danger, delirium. It was suffocating, intense and constant. Yamato needed a breeze, a breath of fresh air. And she came, like the saving grace he was convinced she was.

Mimi was everything he once wanted to be. She was decisive, without complexes or apologies. She made him be the best man he could be; she would never accept anything less than that. She was soft, and light, and could not be held. Before her, Yamato felt energised, motivated; he knew he had to hold up to her or let her go.

She dug herself in his chest, making hers the space between his ribs, as if it had always been like that. With her, there was no room for the cold.

The long winter was over.


	16. À l'aube

[12/09/16]

* * *

11:00PM

A young man has been typing away in front of his laptop for the last two and a half hours, ocassionally pausing to order another _oolong_ tea and for bathroom breaks.

11:26PM

A couple walks in, making the bell chime. He is staggeringly beautiful with his long hair the colour of midnight; she is also beautiful, with short brown hair and smiling eyes like molten chocolate.

12:37AM

Two people walk in, but they are not together. One is a tall young man with dark hair, glasses and a tired look. In contrast, she looks cheery and energized. He politely requests a booth; he's carrying books and under his arm, a laptop. The gold rings on her fingers make her look odd and out of place in the old café.

He orders coffee, black. She asks for something clearly not on the menu and after a few minutes, asks for a minute more to decide.

12:45AM

A very attractive blond comes in. He is carrying what appears to be a guitar on his back and we can assume, then, that he is a musician. He lifts a finger and the waiter on shift brings him one coffee, black, no sugar; he seems to be a regular. His blue eyes briefly scan the present company as he walks towards the breakfast bar, waiting for his usual booth. The nervous-looking young man does not seem like he's about to be finished soon and the young couple speak in soft, hushed tones.

12:58AM

The girl with the rings lifts a delicate hand and they come closer for her order. The young waiter, scandalised, goes back to the kitchen and they can hear the mumble of the cook asking if she's insane. She doesn't seem to mind, inspecting her nails. Five minutes later he comes back with a tray holding a number of things: an _espresso_, a mug of warm milk, pancakes topped with cream and strawberries and chocolate syrup.

01:04AM

The waiter places a cup of some frothy drink before the blond at the bar.

"I haven't ordered anything."

"It's from the lady."

01:06AM

"I don't drink _capuccinos_."

Standing before her, the handsome blond has brought back the drink she sent. Smiling, she drops the magazine in her hands and eyes him carelessly.

"Good," she says. "That's a _mocha_."

01:17AM

The bell chimes and a redhead in a coat and high heels walks in. Her eyes are searching something and when they find it, she sighs.

"Good, you're still here."

"Sora-chan? It's late, you should be sleeping!"

"I promised I'd help you study, didn't I?"

She orders a coffee for herself and a refil for the young man named Jyou. Despite his exhaustion he smiles and all protests end when she sits next to him.

01:32AM

The redhead at the laptop is typing away furiously and when it seems like he can't possibly go any faster, he stops. He stares at the screen without blinking and when he does, he looks like he has just woken from a dream.

"I can't believe this."

Without stopping to count, he leaves money on the table and as quickly as he came in, leaves.

02:24AM

At their table, the girl with short hair smiles and her partner takes her hand.

"I want to show you something."

She leans over the table, kissing his lips.

"Hikari-chan...?"

"Shall we leave, Ken-kun? Before the last train leaves."

They exit the coffee shop still holding hands. On their table they leave empty mugs, a half-bitten cookie and a napkin with drawings of a place they have only seen in their dreams.

03:15AM

_"Ya-ma-to."_

The way she pronounces his name reminds him unexpectedly of his childhood. He hides his smile in what is left of a sweet beverage he remembers he didn't ask for. He sets the mug down and underneath, a folded bill. He stands, heaves the bass over his shoulder and offers her his hand. It's late and the trains have stopped coming but his apartment is close-by and Yamato isn't in a hurry.

"_Mimi."_

The bell chimes announces their exit and the warmth of her hand on his forearm, the sunrise that's approaching.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I began this collection as a dumpster for all the Mimato trash I kept churning out and for a while, it served its purpose. There are things in here that made me happy, others that made me sad and others that I wrote for myself, because I needed to heal. They are not particularly good pieces but they were an important step in this process and deleting them would be denying things I have no business denying. There are still many Mimato stories in me, I'm sure, but this collection needs to be closed before I turn it into something even more bizarre.

Thank you for reading.


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